


A Vision of Vengeance

by Velvedere



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dark, Gen, Mild torture, Revenge, Ten Years Later, all grown up, dark side Ezra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years later. Ezra catches up with Gall Trayvis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vision of Vengeance

Former Senator Gall Trayvis had led a good life since the Empire took control. Retired from his days as an undercover lure to draw out would-be rebels and insurgents, he settled into a quiet life on Balmorra, surrounded by luxury and quite content to sit back and watch as more and more of the known galaxy fell into Imperial hands. The Empire had been exceedingly generous in rewarding him for his loyal service ten years ago, and Trayvis believed retirement suited him well. He was waited on by droids, slept on shimmersilk sheets, and had a glass of Alderaanian wine with his dinner every night – quite expensive to get these days.

Yes, Trayvis believed he would live out his time enjoying peace and quiet. Reading his holos, playing chess, and generally taking life easy.

Until the night he woke up, startled awake, by the sense that someone was _there_.

Trayvis sat up in bed, breathing hard, straining to see in the dark. Only the faintest of starlight made it in through the dimmed windows, coating the room in blackest shadow.

A deeper shadow stood in the midst of it: the barest outline of a figure that Trayvis could make out.

“Wh-Who’s there?” Trayvis croaked, a cold wave of dread sweeping over him.

“Senator Trayvis,” said the voice, smooth and deceptively calm. “You’re looking well.”

“Senator?” Trayvis coughed, forcing an uneasy smile as he wiped his mouth. “You’re mistaken. I haven’t been a senator in over twenty-five years.”

“Funny,” said the voice, without inflection. “I still think of you as ‘senator.’ I guess that was the impression you left.”

“Who are you?” Trayvis gripped his sheets. “What do you want?”

“Justice is what I want, first and foremost. Secondly, I want your head on a pike.”

Cold sweat had already broken out across Trayvis’ forehead. The voice sounded…familiar, somehow, though he couldn’t place it in his memory. At the voice’s words a cold shock struck him like a blow, jolting him into action. Trayvis lunged aside, slapping his hand over a control panel that would open a compartment slot built in along the edge of his bed. Inside was a charged blaster, which he snatched out by its handle.

Even in retirement, one couldn’t be too careful.

He spun to aim it at the shadow and fire when the blaster was yanked from his hand. Not by any visible means, but it sailed across the room to where the shadow caught it, then tossed it casually to the floor.

Trayvis’ eyes shot wide. He lunged next for the emergency call button that would summon his guard droids.

“Guards!” he screamed into the comm unit. “Help—!”

He only had time to say it once before the shadow moved, leaped, and landed on the bed crouching over him. Trayvis yelped in pain as one heavy boot landed on his wrist, crushing it down against the bedframe. A gloved hand with a grip like a vice clamped around his neck, forcing him back into the pillows.

“They won’t be coming,” hissed the voice. From its free hand it let fall to the floor the core cells that normally powered all his droids, their wires severed and hanging lifeless. They hit the ground with a sound of dreadful finality, rolling to a quiet stop. “No one is coming.”

Frustration and despair sprang tears into Trayvis’ eyes. He clenched them shut and strove to keep his voice steady, speaking through a tight throat.

“Please…what do you want?”

“I want to give you a gift,” said the shadow. It reached down to unhook something from its belt. “Something you gave me a long time ago.”

“W-What is it? I don’t know who you are!”

The sound of a snap-hiss cut the air, and Trayvis jerked back as much as he could as a piercingly blue lightsaber ignited all too close to his face. Illuminated in its glow was the face of the young man who loomed over him, the light of the blade caught and held in the intent of his eyes. He was older, and scarred, but Trayvis recognized him.

“You’re the Bridger boy?” he rasped, unaware that he spoke.

“Almost.” The young man’s mouth lilted to one side in a cruel smile. “I’m not a boy anymore.”

One flick of the lightsaber, and he severed Trayvis’ trapped hand at its wrist.

Trayvis screamed, pain from the searing blade lancing down his arm, the scent of scalded meat quick to fill the air. He struggled, but Bridger held him down, speaking calmly. No regard given to his cries.

“A long time ago, you gave me a gift, Senator. You gave me hope with your messages. Your speaking out against the Empire. You gave hope to all of us. Now I’m here to pay back that gift.” He lowered the lightsaber to just under Trayvis’ chin, forcing his head back. Fear of the blade touching his skin muffled Trayvis’ cries, though his chin still trembled.

Bridger looked to his eyes, merciless.

“Beg me for forgiveness,” he said. “Tell me you’re sorry, and I’ll let you go. That’s all you have to do.”

For a moment, Trayvis couldn’t speak. Pain and fear and impotent despair robbed him of any and all sense. But Bridger’s look was unwavering, and through the sweat and pain and tears, Trayvis managed to nod.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “For what I did…”

“For the lives you destroyed.”

“Yes.”

“For the trust you betrayed.”

“Yes! Yes. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for all of it! Please! I don’t want to die!” He wept. “Please. Let me go…”

Bridger’s eyes on him were sharp. Cold and intent, with the dedicated power of a thing inhuman. Like watching a comet streak headlong down its course. Trayvis’ heart pounded in his chest. He could feel it in his ears, flushed heat wafting from his puffed red face.

“P-Please…”

At last, Bridger eased his hold. He leaned down, and with a sudden, gentle tenderness, whispered a single word in Trayvis’ ear:

“No.”

Trayvis sobbed.

“This is the gift of shattered hope, Senator.” Bridger moved the lightsaber again, drawing back to strike. “Thank you for sharing.”

A blue arc sliced through the darkness, cutting Trayvis down into silence.

Imperials found his body the next day, strung up on one of the Empire’s victory monuments in the city square, his head impaled on a pike at the foot of its base.


End file.
